


Eight Crazy Nights

by TrashFoot



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Character Reform/Redemption, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Death of Parents, M/M, and eventual anger management, and eventual therapy, anger management issues, eventual rehab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashFoot/pseuds/TrashFoot
Summary: Brad Delson, an alcoholic with a criminal record, is sentenced to community service under the supervision of an old friend he hasn't seen in years. Brad is then faced with trying to reform and abandon his bad habits. ||| Because I can't come up with plots of my own, I decided that Adam Sandler's movie Eight Crazy Nights needed to be made better and rewritten for the LP fandom. Some things have been omitted and/or reworked. Eventual Brad/Chester, established Mike/Rob.Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Relationships: Chester Bennington/Brad Delson, Established Rob Bourdon/Mike Shinoda





	1. Brad’s Song

He was coming off of his latest binge when he walked past the door to the still-open Dollar Hut. Of course it was still open, it was only a little past 4:00 in the afternoon. Strolling in, he didn’t make any eye contact with the bad-Christmas-sweater-clad cashier when he happily greeted him to his store. He didn’t respond with more than a mumble. He examined the various colorful bags of junk foods, grabbing for a bag of Funyuns and a bag of Doritos. His stumbling hands placed them as quietly as they could into his parka’s inner pockets. He noticed lots of different glasses as he continued his walk down the aisle. Ranging from wine glasses to regular cups, he opted for a beer stein much like the one he was just drinking out of not more than a half an hour ago. His brain registered the tipping over of a knock-off crystal glass and the sound of glass breaking, but his emotions paid the moment no mind.

“Excuse me sir, is everything okay here?”

He looked at the cashier now, eyes wide, thinking he was already looking guilty with a puffed out chest starting at his parka and and unpaid glass in his hand. Panicking, he pushed the cashier out of his way and ran out of the store, running in the direction of his trailer. Or what he was thinking was it’s general direction. He didn’t get remotely close to it though; only yards away from the entrance of the Dollar Hut, he tripped over his own feet as he heard the sounds of the cashier yelling, glass breaking, bags of junk food popping close to his face, and the familiar voices of two cops he knew all too well. Of course they were conveniently close by, they were probably standing on the opposite street corner. The clinking together of handcuffs told him everything.

“Brad Delson, you’re nothing but a delinquent!”

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

“All rise.” The courtroom clerk announced. Brad did as he was told, after some “encouragement” from his public defender.

“You may be seated.” Judge Woods sat down at the bench, shifting papers before continuing. “The case, number 1-3451, Dollar Hut versus Bradford Philip Delson, shall now commence. Mr. Delson, nice to see you again.”

“Your Honor, may we please skip the pleasantries and continue with the case?” Brad looked over at the Dollar Hut’s lawyer after giving the judge a sarcastic smile. This would be the only time he would happily agree with her. He wanted to get this over just as quickly.

“Why yes, Miss Lucas. The plaintiffs, Dollar Hut, are suing the defendant, Mr. Delson, for petty theft, public intoxication, trespassing, disorderly conduct, and vandalism. Mr. Delson, you are currently looking at 10 years in jail on these charges alone, not to mention your previous history. How do you plead?”

“Your Honor,” Brad’s lawyer started as he leaned into the microphone. Suddenly, a voice from behind stopped him before he could continue.

“Your Honor, if I may, I wanna help.” Brad hadn’t heard that voice in years. Not since high school. Not since he ran away from his last foster home when he was 17. Not since L.A. Brad, his lawyer, the plaintiff, and their lawyer all swiveled around to see who was speaking.

“Yes? Can you state your name please? I’m curious about how could you possibly help the town drunk.”

“Uh, my name is Mike— uh, Michael Kenji Shinoda— a-and, I’ve known Brad— Mr. Delson— since we were kids. He can do community service for me.”

“Your name sounds familiar.”

“Well, I’m opening an art gallery in town, and—”

“Ahh, yes, one of my friends from the town hall told me about the permit you had submitted.”

“Excuse me, your Honor, why is it that you conveniently know all of these people? I feel like this makes you impartial.” The judge mulled over Miss Lucas’ statement. He banged his gavel in a moment of decision.

“Overruled. Mr. Shinoda, I’m going to need some more convincing if I’m going to release Mr. Delson into your custody.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Well, I-I know Brad, and we were best friends in school. If I can, I feel as though I can help him change his life around. Turn him back into the... the captain of the basketball team who was full of potential. The, the kid who was falling in love with math and history. Turn him back to the person he used to be. Who he could’ve turned into. I’d need his help getting the gallery set up for opening, especially since I am already busy enough running around town doing errands, and I don’t have the money right now to hire the proper help.” The room was silent as the judge visibly mulled things over again.

“Fine. But, if he is ever drunk in public or commits any crime during the period of his community service, he’s going straight to jail. Thank your lucky stars, Mr. Delson. You shall be released into the custody of Mr. Shinoda for community service, until his gallery opens. We will return to this matter here in 6 months to check on your progress. Court adjourned.”


	2. I Hate Love, I Hate You, I Hate Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Brad go to the mall and run into someone from the past.

Brad gave up figuring out how to build the display stand about an hour ago. The directions were getting on his nerves. He’s moved on to rolling white paint onto the few walls in the middle of the room that needed it. A much simpler task for this stupid ‘community service.’ The only possibly redeeming thing to come out of this situation was that he fell into familiar hands. Sure, he hadn’t seen Mike since he was 17, maybe 18, what— almost 10, 15 years ago?— but they knew each other. They were friends. Mike’s belief in him wasn’t so obvious back then, but he was making it obvious now, when he needed it. Brad knew he didn’t deserve it, but he recognized that no one else in town would be stupid enough to give him a second chance, and he wasn’t up for throwing this away.

Things were definitely different though. It had been some time between the last time they spoke and the day Mike decided to save his sorry ass with his hopeful optimism. That part hadn’t changed. What did change was them. Brad never went to college, only to bars. Mike went off to California University to be a good student like he always was and got his art degree. In the process, he met someone special; a curveball Brad didn’t remember Mike ever letting him know about. He found himself a nice boyfriend majoring in business who has since turned into a wonderful fiancé who was going to help him run his gallery from what Brad could gather. They moved to Agoura Hills recently and have been working hard to get to know people and make friends in town while getting their hands dirty and helping to improve their new community. For instance, when Mike first bought the gallery, he wrangled together some of his ‘business neighbors’ and cleaned up the empty lot next door to the gallery. Just some of the fantastic stuff Mike and his wonderful fiancé do together. “He’s Jewish too,” Mike told him, “you would like him.” Yeah, because we’re supposed to be best friends now based off our one thing in common.

Well, two things, Brad thought shrugging. His fiancé was Jewish and clearly gay, just like Brad. Brad was never all that settled with both of those things overlapping. He felt on some lower level of wrong, and ended up dropping the whole religion thing in general. Plus, it helped him to drink and commit petty crimes without the stress of God and a Rabbi’s judgments every weekend. Brad dumped the roller into the paint can and stretched his back some. All the bending over and moving he’s been doing is way more exercise than he’s bothered doing in years. Not since Jewish Youth Basketball Camp. He felt the memories of what a so-called “basketball prodigy” he was trying to flood their way back into his brain. His fingers itched for a beer nearby, but there was none. Mike wouldn’t allow him to drink on the job. Then, someone came out of one of the gallery’s few back rooms.

“Hey, Brad, how’s it going?” Brad groaned in response to Mike’s question. “That good, huh?”

“That stupid display stand is too complicated for a display stand. And the painting is taking fucking forever.”

“Here, how ‘bout you take a break from all that, and you can come with me to the mall. I gotta pick up some stuff there, I could use an extra set of hands.” Brad didn’t fight the chance to get the hell out of here.

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

“This place seems so different during the holidays.” Mike commented.

“This place seems so different sober.”

“Yeah, I bet a lot of places do. Is it alright if we grab a bite to eat before we go to the Allwood Furniture place?”

“Yeah, sure.” As they approached the food court, Brad looked around at all of the options, not feeling particularly hungry. Through the crowd of people, he thought he noticed a familiar face behind the counter of the Burger King, causing him to do a double-take, and freeze in his spot. His heart leapt into his throat as his brain made the connection at the sight of his tattooed wrists.

“Hey, Mike?”

“Yeah?” He said, quickly looking around for Brad. “Oh, you wanna go to Burger King?”

“N— is that who I think it is?”

“Who?”

“The guy behind the counter, the cashier. Is that Chester Bennington?”

“Oh, yeah. Actually, I am kind of hungry for a burger. Maybe some fries too. You want anything?”

“Uhh, nah I’m... I’m good. I’ll just uh, find us a table or something.”

“Alright...” Mike looked at him warily as he went off to get some food.

Brad found an empty table quickly, his back towards the counter. He bit at his nails as he tried not to remember the days of high school; the time of his life when his warm heart was fully shattered and was turning colder than ice. All the days and weeks that he lost to attempts at brand new addictions. Eventually he settled on alcohol because of the easier access and the larger amounts.

“That was him.” Mike scared Brad out of his thoughts. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Sorry.” Mike chuckled. “That was Chester.”

Brad remembered Chester. He’d been their school’s designated drug addicted bad boy. Somehow Brad didn’t quite make the cut. He was probably too lanky to be seen as a ‘bad boy,’ or maybe it’s cuz he didn’t have the tattoos or the band like Chester did. He just wasn’t like Chester. Brad had bought some stuff from him a few times, not that he was all that into the drugs, but he was into Chester. He may have been one of his first crushes, probably first love if he was going to be truthful about it. But he wasn’t truthful about it to himself at the time. Instead he buried those feelings of love deep inside of himself like he did with all of his other feelings, refusing to deal with it in the moment.

He was glad he did at the time, because when Chester dropped out of school halfway through senior year, apparently to ‘follow his dreams’ of rock ‘n roll stardom with his band Grey Daze, it broke his heart. Or what big enough shards of his heart were left to break, anyways. Obviously if he’s working in the food court at the mall, things didn’t quite work out.

Looking at his tray of food, Brad noted Mike’s burger and two cartons of fries. Mike caught Brad’s attention by playfully shaking the second carton in his face, sporting a toothy grin as he did so. Brad accepted the offering, grimacing. Mike‘s happiness wasn’t the source of his sour mood, it was the reminders of his past slowly coming back into his life that was getting on his bad side. His old friend, his old crush... Brad didn’t wanna know what old reminder would pop up next.

“Well, I got to catch up with him while I was up there.” Mike commented in between fries. “Apparently he quit the drugs and stuff. He’s in grad school now, trying to pursue mental health counseling so he can help out abused and addicted adolescents. He’s got a kid of his own to support on top of it. I don’t know how he does it.”

“...a kid?”

“Yep.” Mike popped the last letter before popping the last three fries into his mouth and quickly started on his burger. Brad’s world froze for a moment. His crush was straight. He didn’t know why this was affecting him like this. He didn’t have a chance with him back then, why would that change now? “Brad, you okay?”

“Ye— no, I...” Brad looked at his fries, and then at Mike. “Yeah.” Defeated, he shoved his hand into the carton and continued eating.

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

Sitting in his trailer after finally finishing the day’s work, Brad looked out the tiny window and noted how nice the outskirts of Agoura Hills looked in tonight’s sunset. He proceeded to ruin his own private beautiful moment by interrupting it with the ‘Kssshhh’ sound of a Blue Ribbon beer opening, followed by slurping sounds. Today’s work was hard enough. The news he got was harder. But it still wasn’t the worst news he’s been dealt with. His eyes darted over to the envelope that had been propped up against the wall in his kitchen area for God knows how long. The word ‘Brad’ was sprawled across the front in beautiful handwritten script. Brad didn’t dare open it. He rarely even wanted to touch it while he’d be drinking. The memories the envelope brought dared to come to the forefront again. He didn’t want this drinking session to end as it has a thousand times before, so he looked away, back at the beautiful sunset, and kept slurping.


	3. Technical Foul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad's trailer burns down and he winds up living with Mike.

Brad woke up covered in sweat. He couldn’t see a thing. At first he just assumed it was the middle of the night, but his eyes started stinging and he was coughing up a storm. His brain connected the dots quickly, even in his hungover state: Fire. He stumbled through his cramped bedroom and through the remainder of his trailer, disregarding the risks ahead of him. On his way out the door, he grabbed the envelope that stayed on the end of the kitchen counter, the letter unaware of the danger it was in. He double checked the letter was still in his hand before he stood and watched his home burn.

He knew he should call the fire department, but his brain was in the midst of being frazzled between the rude awakening and the fact that he was literally witnessing his whole life go up in smoke. He didn’t even realize that someone who had been driving past, a rare wanderer who was up in the earliest part of the morning for God knows what reason, had slammed on their brakes at the sight and was now yelling at him.

“Hey, buddy! Buddy! Are you okay?! Is everyone alright?!”

“Yeah...” Brad was now sinking slowly back into reality.

“What happened?! Did you call the fire department?!” Silence. “Here, I’ll— I’ll call.”

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

The fire trucks arrived as the dawn did. It was a total loss. Not that he had much to lose, just a cheap place to sleep in the coldest part of the year. Obviously arson, the chief told him. Textbook case of it. When asked, Brad lied and said that he didn’t need help from the Red Cross and that he had a place to stay. As they left, he took one last look at the ashes of his life and thanked whatever last remaining lucky star that decided to stay that he passed out fully dressed; a deep forest green long sleeve shirt, beat up black jeans, and a pair of sock-less shoes all kept him as warm as his trailer used to as he walked towards town.

An hour and a half later, he was sitting up against the locked door to Mike’s still nameless gallery. His eyes fluttered shut as he wrapped his arms around his sides for warmth. He didn’t know how much time had passed before his eyes opened back up. Rob, Mike’s fiancé, was standing silently upright in front of him. He was the first one Brad laid eyes on, confusing him greatly because he was hearing Mike’s voice and was feeling someone lightly shoving his shoulder. He looked around, surprised to find Mike squatting by his right side, lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re awake. What are you doing out here? It’s freezing out.”

“M... my house burned down.”

“W-What? Really?” Rob asked with concern as Mike stared in stunned silence.

“Yeah. They said it was arson. I guess I’ve got some enemies or something out there.” Brad searched around for where he placed his envelope, finding it in his lap. “This is the only thing I could save.”

“God... I’m so sorry.” Mike said genuinely. “How ‘bout you stay with us?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Brad, what other options do you have?” He thought for a moment.

“Besides,” Rob started, “it’s the first night of Chanukah. I’d love another pair of hands helping me light the chanukkiah.” Brad gave in and agreed to go.

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

After the day’s worth of work was done, Brad got in the car with Mike. On the way to their house, Mike explained a lot of the rules that Brad was already becoming annoyed with. You have to take your shoes off upon entering the house, respect Rob’s dietary restrictions for his veganism, you can only eat either in the kitchen or out on the porch, and clean up any crumbs you leave behind in the kitchen. And forget about the bathrooms— clean the bathtub after every use? Wash your hands every time you use the toilet? Between the fact that he felt like he was being treated like a child and the fact that there seemed to be about a thousand rules per room, Brad was both thankful and annoyed when they finally arrived at the house. Upon entering, Mike announced their arrival.

“Hi! In here!” Rob yelled. Rob must’ve been in the kitchen, cooking away. Whatever he was cooking smelled great and filled the house with a nice warmth Brad hadn’t felt in a long time. Mike led Brad to Rob’s location. “I’m glad you’re here, I could use some help.”

He needed some help making the matzoh ball soup. Brad knew the smell had a familiarity to it; he hadn’t had matzoh ball soup since he was a kid. For years the only traditional food he had settled for was any pre-made latkes he could find in a store that he could throw into his toaster oven. Brad was placed in charge of making the matzoh balls themselves as Rob worked on the soup, and Mike set up the pull out couch in the living room. Brad wasn’t expecting this much domesticity so quickly, especially after having so many rules explained to him. Mike had really settled down since they were teens. Brad remembered his spikey hair that changed colors every other week and all the baggy clothes. Even helping paint Mike’s nails black, though Brad tended to go for just coloring his black with a sharpie, afraid if he painted his nails one of their peers would attempt to hone in on stereotypes of his hidden sexuality.

Rob placed the last matzoh ball in the soup, and turned the burner on low. They all wound up gathering in the living room, chattering on about this and that. Brad stayed a little quieter than usual, simmering in the events of the day. He got lost in his thoughts again. Rob seemed like a good guy to settle down with, though. Somewhere inside himself, Brad was happy with Mike’s choice. He was quiet and awkward and vegan, but these were all things Brad could get past. Probably. Eventually. But he was nice, even to the people like Brad who he barely knew and who had barely done anything worth even half his niceness in his whole adult life. They both reminded him of his parents. There was the energetic one, always going and doing and having pie-in-the-sky ideas in mind. Then there was the gentle one with their radiating calmness, pulling on the string to bring their balloon back down to earth.

“Alright, it’s officially a half an hour past sunset. Time to light tonight’s candle.” Rob announced, coming out of the kitchen after turning the burner off.

“Yes! Finally, one step closer to dinner.” Mike said. “I’m starving.”

“Brad, since you’re our guest, would you like the honor of lighting the first night’s candle?”

“Uh, I guess. As long as you do the prayers. I haven’t said them in a while, I don’t really remember them.”

The three men traveled to the central doorway of the home, the chanukkiah set up with all blue candles to the left of the door. Before the lighting of the candles, Rob recited the prayers.

“Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.”

“Amen.” Brad and Mike said simultaneously.

“Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam, She’ahsa neesim la’avotaynu bayamim haheim baz’man hazeh.”

“Amen.”

“Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam, shehekheyanu v’kiy’manu v’higiyanu laz’man hazeh.”

“Amen.” With the final Amen, Brad lit the shammus, and used it to light the left-most candle. Half an hour later, they were sitting around the dining room table, chatting about how much faster the gallery is coming along with Brad’s help. Brad found it odd that, despite the shitty way his day had started and how shitty he was expecting this living situation was going to be, he felt good. The rules were gonna take some getting used to for sure, but they were already making him feel welcome and... at home.


	4. Long Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Brad's past gets dredged up, and he's not happy about it.

Brad was actually excited about tonight. Things had been going pretty well the past few days. With Rob, he’d been cooking and talking, mainly about the holidays and Judaism. It was nice, surprisingly. Tonight they were making sweet potato latkes with chutney sour cream together. There was something in the way he spoke about the religion that reminded him of his Sunday School teacher from when he was young. He explained things gently, things he remembered learning or at least hearing about. Like the miracle of Chanukah for example; it was a story he knew and remembered, but it had been such a long time since he’d  _ really _ heard it, a nice version of it at least. The version of it Brad hadn’t stripped down to the basics over time.

With Mike, things were the same. They spoke, slowly sliding back into the friendship they had back when they were kids. An adult version of it, at least. They had drinks together at night after work, after dinner. Of course, Mike would never drink as much as Brad did. Mike would usually stop at two beers, Brad would keep going. He’d pass out on his pull-out-couch mattress and get woken up by Mike the following morning with enough time to grab a fruit off the counter or a handful of something out of the pantry before they went off to work.

Today was Friday, and the three men decided to enjoy the late afternoon at the local ice rink. Rob was surprisingly talented on the ice, while Mike and Brad held on to the edge for dear life. After Rob was done showing off, he helped lead Mike and Brad to the entryway and over to a free bench. Mike couldn’t stop talking about his invitation to the town’s All-Star Banquet for the following night he had just found out about. He was unexpectedly nominated for his contributions to the community. It made him confident that he really made his place in town, an act he worked hard for. Once they were ready, they headed over to the concession stand and got some fries and corn dogs.

“So Brad,” Rob started as he dipped a fry into some ketchup, “have you called your parents for the holidays yet?”

“No.” Brad said plainly. “Can’t anyways.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s a sad story, really.” Mike interrupted, fresh corn dog in hand.

“ _ Mike _ ,” Brad said in a warning tone, “I  _ don’t _ wanna talk about it.”

“Wait, really?” Rob asked Mike.

“Yeah.” Brad let out an angry sigh after realizing his warning was being ignored. “Brad here was actually something of a basketball prodigy. He was on a team of other Jewish children, and I remember the game: They won, and I noticed he kept looking into the stands. He noticed me, but he was also noticing the empty space next to me. I guess we were both waiting for his parents, but they never showed. The police showed up towards the end of the game, and once it was over, they told him. Both of his parents had died in a car accident on the way there. A truck had skidded on black ice and swerved into them. He was ruined by the loss of his parents, and he leapt from foster home to foster home and started drinking and stealing.”

“Oh... that’s so sad.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t wanna talk about it, Mike. It’s too fucking sad, and you’re a little shit for doing that.” Perfect timing for Brad to curse, as a parent skated past their rink-side table with his son in tow.

“Hey, can you watch your fucking language around my son?”

“Fuck off.” He told them, and they skated off with a look of disdain for Brad. “And Mike, fuck you for telling that story. Fuck the both of you! Fuck this whole fucking rink!” He yelled, continuing to make a scene by standing up and shoving his plastic chair back.

“Brad, you’re—”

“No, Mike, I don’t wanna  _ fucking _ hear it! You’re an asshole! I don’t want or need anyone’s fucking pity— not from you and especially not from some overly sensitive vegan who can’t handle cooking that shit he calls food on his own!” After a hesitant moment, Mike said with a shaky voice and a pained look on his face,

“You're no longer welcome in my house.”

“Good, ‘cause your house sucks!” Brad bellowed. Mike didn’t let the argument end there.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? Why are you screaming at the same people who are trying to help you?”

“That's my problem!” With that, Brad stormed off.

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

He had managed to walk his way into town as the sun set behind him, and found a hole-in-the-wall attempt at a bar that was just as small on the inside as it looked from the outside. After getting just drunk enough, Brad’s intoxicated brain had a grand idea: Break into the mall to go and find a man he hasn’t spoken directly to since high school. The thing his intoxicated brain hadn’t considered was the fact that it was now 10:00 at night, and the mall just closed it’s doors for the night. He didn’t care though. He already put money down on the bar, not knowing nor caring if it was actually enough for the amount of Heineken he had just consumed, and was making his way down the block.

It took his drunk self about 45 minutes to get there. It took about 10 seconds to approach the front doors and punch his way through the glass. Feeling the pain stemming from punching through the first set of doors, he chose to bust through the second set shoulder first. He emerged into the large building bleeding and covered in shards of glass, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about all of the dulled red lights flashing or the alarms blaring, either. He needed to speak to Chester. When he arrived, he saw that the Burger King’s overhead rolling doors were shut tight and definitely locked, and he lost it. He took it out on nearby tables and chairs, angrily throwing them around the food court and even a few over the nearby mezzanine barrier.

“What is it, Chester?! Where’d you go?! Huh?! Are you back at home with your happy wife, changing your kid’s sheets after he pissed the bed for the fourth time this week? Huh, is that where you are, you motherfucker?! Not good enough to stay here and see me?! Aw, horse shit!”

He decided that wasn’t enough, though. He looked over the edge of the mezzanine and spotted a fountain that was off for the night, the coins at the bottom shimmering in the red lights. He rushed down the turned-off escalator nearby, and as he was about to hop into the fountain and tackle the fish statue head on, he heard the echoing of the front doors busting open.

“This is the Agoura Hills police! Come out with your hands up!”

The booming voice echoed throughout as multiple footsteps made their way into the building. They seemed distant enough that Brad thought he still had a chance to make a break for it. He ran for the back mall doors that lead to the parking garage, stumbling over his own feet, this time thankfully avoiding a collision with the tiled floor. He made it with time to spare, but still not stopping his sprint until he made it to the sidewalk outside of the garage. He kept looking over his shoulder as he walked, ready to start running at any given moment. All this running made him thirsty, though, and he felt the police presence made him all too sober.

Eventually he passed a small group of girl friends handing their IDs to a man sitting in a chair outside of a door. As it opened, he heard the live band’s music blaring. He stopped dead in his tracks. The sounds of the guitar was what attracted him first, then the familiar voice really caught his attention. He pulled out his wallet and showed the man in the chair his ID, and was let in.

There was a stage set up against the back wall opposite the door, and a large space in the middle of the room for a standing crowd to enjoy the show. The bar was off to the side, and Brad took the last available seat, ordering their cheapest beer.

“Alright, this is gonna be our last song for the night.” The familiar voice said into the microphone. Brad whipped his head around to match the voice to the face. “It’s called “Drag,” off of “No Sun Today”— one of our first albums— which you can now order off our website.” He turned to his band and asked if they were ready before they began. The man’s singing voice was still as soothing at all the right points as it was so many years ago, and aggressive where it counted. Brad was surprised, mostly at the way his heart was fluttering at the sight of him; he was just yelling about this man not even a few hours ago, and now he was suddenly back in high school, lusting over a man he still can’t have. The bartender slid Brad’s beer in front of him during the song. Like he’d been able to notice, too entranced by the sight before him. Brad could’ve sworn they made eye contact once or twice throughout the song, but his mind immediately notched it down to either wishful thinking or too much drinking.

As the song finished, the band left the stage. Brad swiveled back into position at the bar, finally noticing his already forgotten beer. He drank the first half of it down quickly as the people next to him moved around, many people leaving now that the set was over, wanting to get a new buzz on top of his sobering mind. He didn’t pay much attention to the faceless person in the seat next him get up and leave, nor did he pay any attention to the new person that replaced them. He only noticed them when they leaned in and spoke into his ear, mid-swig.

“Hey, come here often?” Brad side-eyed them with a look that asked, ‘What the fuck?’ He was caught off guard immediately when he saw who it was, sending his drink down the wrong pipe. The person laughed, and clapped his back in an effort to help. “Brad, learn how to drink, dude.”

“Chester?” Was the only thing Brad could croak out as he cleared his throat of the drink.

“In the flesh.” He said with pride. After a moment of silence, or at least as much of a moment of silence as you could get inside of a bar in the middle of the night, Chester asked: “Surprised to see me?”

“Y-yeah. I...” Brad thought for a moment about what he was going to say. He didn’t have a clue about what he was actually  _ going _ to say. There were too many thoughts flying around his brain. “I thought you quit the band.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Mike.”

“Hm, yeah. Y’know I saw him at my other job the other day. I quit it for a while but came back to it for the fun of it. What else did he have to say about me?”

“Oh, y— that you’re doing good, quit the drugs and you’re in school and stuff. You... you have a kid.” Those last words held an air of disbelief. Brad chastised himself for bringing up something he didn’t even want to bring up.

“Yeah. Jamie. Oh, I love him so much.” Chester looked over to Brad, noticing the sadness framing his features as he stared at his drink, no longer feeling thirsty. “Hey, you okay?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“You don’t look it.”

“No, it’s nothing...”

“You can tell me. I’m not becoming a therapist for nothing.” Brad looked at him for a moment with concern. His mouth decided to tell a truth against his brain’s wishes.

“I had such a crush on you back in high school.” A moment passed as Chester’s mouth formed into a line and his brow furrowed. Brad didn’t know what to make of it.

“Something tells me that’s not everything.” Another moment passed. “Did something happen recently?”

“Uhm... that’s kind of a loaded question.” Brad said with a breathy laugh. Seeing that Chester wasn’t laughing, he awkwardly continued. “Ahh, I blew up at Mike earlier.”

“How come?”

“He brought up my... my parents.” Brad’s voice was getting shaky. The back of his eyes were beginning to sting a little. How was Chester, a man he himself hasn’t spoken to for years until tonight, getting him to be vulnerable and reveal himself so easily?

“Ahh, the past. That can be a big hump for people. I remember hearing about that... that incident. Did you ever grieve for them?”

“Uh, I... I dunno. I started drinking and shit after that.”

“Sounds like a no to me.”

“I never even opened the— uh,” he reached into his jacket he borrowed from Mike, pulling something out of the pocket and placing it on the bar in front of him, “the last Chanukah card they gave me.”

“Well, maybe you can begin finding closure by opening it.” Brad looked at him, again thinking ‘What the fuck?’ Chester shrugged his shoulders with a knowing smirk. Brad gave in, placing his index finger under the edge of the flap. He looked at Chester one last time before releasing a breath and going through with the action.

There was a simple hanukkiah with candles of various colors on the front, sitting in front of a light blue background. On the inside were two old polaroids: one of just his parents, and one family photo, a young, very curly-haired Brad smiling big for the camera in between his parents. His mother’s handwriting was scribbled on the card: “Happy Chanukah to our wonderful son, you fill our lives with joy. Don’t ever change the way you are, our beautiful 12 year old boy.” His father had scribbled “Mom + Dad” below that. Warm tears began flowing down his cheeks. Chester placed an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close.

Brad didn’t get a chance to cry for too long though. Not even five minutes later, the bartender was calling for everyone’s attention. Brad caught sight of the police officers and grabbed the card, scurrying around the opposite edge of the building towards the door, not even saying goodbye to Chester. He didn’t know how— he didn’t think he even  _ wanted _ to know how— he managed to sneak out the door successfully, but he did, and he wasn’t about to complain.

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

He hadn’t been on a Greyhound bus since he was a teenager. He was trying to run away then, too. He didn’t make it far; his foster parents at the time dragged him off the bus before it even went anywhere. But this time there was nobody to grab his ear and take him home and yell at him, unless the police tracked him down again. It was just him, the bus driver, the handful of other passengers, and their route to L.A.

They were heading through town, passing by the community center when he saw it. Every year, they have the oversized Christmas tree, oversized electric chanukiah, and oversized electric kinara all lined up and lit. This morning’s sunshine made them look nice. After sleeping in a bus station for half the night, the morning light had a way of doing that, save for Brad’s aching head. Brad remembered the story of Chanukah; the way Rob told it.

_ "We fought against our oppressors, defeated them against all odds, and then we all ate and celebrated — so, that happened in the story of Hanukkah."  _

He thought about it for the hour that it took to finally arrive at the bus station in L.A. He thought about it for the two hours he spent wandering the streets. The only time he didn’t think about it was when he was checking out the return bus schedule to Agoura Hills. He was thinking about Mike instead, and how much of a jackass he was to him and Rob. He had to go back. He had to return to Agoura Hills and attempt a reconciliation with them. If not for him, for his parents. He had 40 minutes to wait for the next bus, and another hour on top of that to think about how to apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We fought against our oppressors, defeated them against all odds, and then we all ate and celebrated — so, that happened in the story of Hanukkah." (says Rebecca Bass, program and membership coordinator of the Jewish Community Alliance of Southern Maine. https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/2018/11/218195/what-is-hanukkah-traditions-story-meaning)


	5. Bum Biddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad redeems himself.

“We’re going to start the evening with our most anticipated award: the Community Champion Award!” Mike grabbed Rob’s arm in excitement at the speaker’s announcement. Rob took his hand and rubbed it gently with his thumb. Despite sitting next to one of the many large windows in the community center, neither of them noticed the man pop up amongst the shadows and shrubbery just outside. It wasn’t the best spot in the house, Brad knew, but the person who was speaking was talking just loud enough into the mic for Brad to hear from outside. “Our nominees are, high schooler Jennie Wong for organizing the school’s food drive, Matthew Schrader for his Eagle Scout project doing necessary restoration at the nature reserve, Mike Shinoda for getting neighbors together and cleaning up that problematic vacant lot next to his business, and Andrew Johnson for advocating for the swing for wheelchair-bound children at the park. And the winner is... Matthew Schrader!”

Everyone clapped, Mike and Rob included, but the pained look on Mike’s face told Brad everything. He saw Rob attempt to comfort him, and Mike leaned in to whisper something into his fiancé’s ear. As the clapping continued, the two men stood up to leave, grabbing their jackets along the way. He watched them get in their car and drove off, probably heading towards home for the night. Brad knew Mike was excited for this award, but he didn’t realize just how important it was to him until now. Before thinking anything through, Brad stood up from his crouching position and headed for the doors into the venue. Pushing his way through, he caught the next speaker right before she could begin.

“Excuse me, everyone! Can I have your attention please?!”

“There he is!” A voice from behind him shouted. Apparently, the police had the smart idea to keep tabs on public events happening in town in case Brad decided to show his face. As hands grasped at Brad’s dainty wrists, he stopped them.

“Ho— hold on, hold on! Wait a second, can you please just give me a minute to speak?”

“Oh, so that you can brag about breaking into a mall in the middle of the night?” The police officer asked.

“No, I wanna tell you all how you’re wrong. Listen, I don’t give a single shit about getting arrested right now, all I care about is that you all do the right thing tonight, and so far you haven’t. That Eagle Scout didn’t deserve that award. Mike Shinoda did. Mike has done more in his very first year here to help the people of this town than any of you have done since you were born here. He’s introduced himself to practically everyone in town, gotten to know you all— he’s, he’s taken an absolute shithole of a business and made it a thousand times better, and his gallery is finally gonna give this podunk town some class. Even more than that though: he’s helped  _ me _ . I’ve been a shitty person ever since I arrived in this town, and Mike and his fiancé have both taught me ways to get myself together... They’ve given me confidence to be the better person I’ve always been putting off becoming, not out of fear, but because of my past. And I don’t give a single shit if you don’t feel like you  _ owe _ Mike an award, but don’t tell me he doesn’t deserve one, because if he can shine up a piece of shit like me, then clearly you’re dumb as hell and I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with you.”

There was a moment of stunned silence at the end of his speech, before the woman currently standing at the podium finally spoke up.

“Well, Mr. Delson, as much as I would love to prove you wrong, I do have to admit...” she said with a sigh, “you have a point. I was just about to announce the winner of the town’s Good Neighbor Award for contributions to the local society by helping another citizen, and it  _ was _ Richie Petrov, but as the Mayor of Agoura Hills, I feel that the  _ real _ winner of this award is Mike Shinoda.”

**\+ +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ + +++ +**

Brad was initially both surprised and impressed that the mayor would willingly walk from the venue all the way to Mike’s house, but the more he walked with her with two cops walking alongside him, the less impressed he was. He was coming along to see the look on Mike’s face and that was it. He knew the cops would take him in to jail, and he knew he’d spend 10 or more years there for breaking probation. As for the small group of people walking behind them, Brad assumed they were there for the same reason he was, minus needing cops to hold on to their arms.

The mayor knocked on the door and waited. Mike answered moments later, wearing an old grey t-shirt bearing the name of the art school he attended and some red and black flannel pants.

“Yeah?” A light blush crawled up his cheeks when he realized who he was opening the door to. “Oh, ha— hi, Mrs. Mayor.”

“Hello, Mr. Shinoda.” She said with a small but genuine smile.

“W-what’s going on?”

“You won an award. The Good Neighbor Award.” She handed it to him as Rob awkwardly shuffled to his fiancé’s side.

“But...” Mike turned the plaque around in his hands. “I wasn’t even nominated for this one. I was up for...” he trailed off.

“I know. And you weren’t even the original winner for this one, but  _ someone _ —” she looked over to Brad, who gave Mike a small smile and wave before being surprised by Chester emerging from amongst the crowd behind him and clasping a hand on his shoulder and smiling at him, “—told us just how wrong we were. Thank you, thank you both, for helping clean up and improve our community.”

“Thank—” Mike cleared his throat as his eyes welled up with tears, “ah, thank you. Thank you all. And especially thank you, Brad.”

As Mike finished his little speech, the mayor turned to the policemen holding Brad still.

“Boys, I think Mr. Delson here has shown his new, true colors tonight.”

“But, Mrs. Mayor, he  _ trespassed _ , he  _ ruined _ —”

“I don’t wanna know. Whatever it is, have him pay for it to be fixed, have him attend A.A., add some more time to his community service, that’s it. Pass that message along to the judge.”

“Bu— Ugh, fine.”

“Wow,” Brad commented. “Um, I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I guess.”

“You owe me.” The mayor told him, a stern, knowing look showing up on her face as the police left. “You better really commit yourself to the change that you’re going through.”

“Don’t worry,” Chester said, “I’ll help hold him to it. I’ll bring him along to my next A.A. meeting with me.”

“Thank you, sir.” And with that, the mayor was off.

“Brad, I also wanted to give you this.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket. “You left so suddenly last time I saw you, I didn’t have the chance to give you this. It’s a list of a few grief counselors I know of, and their numbers. And here,” he took another piece of paper out of his other pocket, “is my number. I want you to call me when you’re ready for a date.”

“B-but I thought you have a kid, y-you’re straight—”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m bi. I’ll be waiting for your call.” Chester winked and turned, walking off towards home.


	6. Epilogue Part I: The Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad goes straight to jail, does not pass go, does not collect $200.

It was Brad’s third A.A. meeting in a row. Chester mentioned how happy he was about Brad’s success so far. Apparently, three in a row was a big enough deal to apply some sort of happiness or pride to it. Brad wasn’t exactly feeling it, but he was glad Chester was. Kind of.

To be honest, Brad was waiting things out for the day he and Chester went out for an  _ actual _ date instead of Chester holding out on him. He got the feeling that he wanted to get a little more reacquainted first, to show Brad the ropes of A.A. and a life of sobriety before anything official happens. Normally Brad wouldn’t bother holding out for someone else and would just end up getting impatient, but this is something he’d been wanting and he was even a little curious to see where it’d go.

The fourth meeting, Chester said he couldn’t stay for the whole thing, but Brad went anyways despite Chester being his ride. Chester said he could ask one of the other guys there for a ride— who did he mention? Dave or something? Who cares— Brad ended up walking home, passing by a liquor store, but not going in. The next meeting, Chester said he couldn’t make it. Mike was nice and dropped him off, stating he had plans to be in that area anyways, but Brad didn’t really believe it. He didn’t want Mike or Rob driving him to meetings or really anywhere, just so he could keep some sense of independence. He ended up leaving early, taking the route that brought him past that liquor store. This time he went in.

The following night, Mike and Rob were out of the house for a date night. Chester came by to pick Brad up, coming in to their house for the first time. As Brad grabbed his coat off the mattress of his pull-out-couch-bed, Chester noticed a half-empty bottle of rum underneath.

“Hey Brad,” he said, revealing it from it’s hiding place behind the comforter that Brad attempted to drape over it like Toto revealing the Wizard of Oz to Dorothy and co. “What’s this?”

Brad stammered his way through a thinly-veiled excuse, which landed about half-a-notch above ‘holding on to it for a friend.’ During the fight that ensued, Chester seemed to have a moment of clarity; that Brad wasn’t doing any of this sobriety stuff for  _ himself _ , but for  _ him—  _ for Chester. When Brad didn’t defend himself— he wanted to, but couldn’t find the right words— that was the final nail in the coffin. Chester told him that he couldn’t do that. That that wasn’t the right path that would lead him to sobriety, that he shouldn’t be doing this for anyone but himself. He didn’t want to see or talk to him until he got to that point.

After he left, Brad finished off the bottle and wandered through the streets of Agoura Hills in search of more. On his way home from Blue Dog Wine & Spirits, a police officer noticed a staggering Brad Delson with his 6-turned-5-pack, and an open bottle of beer in hand. Needless to say, he went to jail. He spent his one phone call on trying to get Mike and Rob to come save him. He got their answering machine instead.

They never came.


	7. Epilogue Part II: Breaking The Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Brad's life after jail.

In jail, his sobriety slowly began settling in. On the other hand, his anger wasn’t so slow to come around. Anger towards Chester for being mad at him for falling off the wagon, anger at Mike and Rob for not coming.  _ Just like his parents _ . Everyone was abandoning him at every angle. All of this was all of their faults anyways. It was Chester’s fault for not keeping him sober. It was Mike and Rob’s fault for not coming to get him out of jail.

Suddenly he started sobbing, crying into his own hands. The sense of loneliness was sudden and overwhelming. He was still angry, but it was dissipating as he started wanting someone to be there next to him to lean on, to provide even an ounce of comfort. A thought popped into his head unexpectedly: the realization that this was all his making, and that there must’ve been a reason for why nobody was around. The only reason he could think of was himself.

~ ~ ~

6 months later.

The sunshine felt good on Brad’s face as the guard shut the gate behind him. He couldn’t enjoy it for long though, as a car was waiting to bring him to his parole officer’s office. When he arrived, he was told to go to down the hall and Mr. Hahn’s office should be the second door on the left.

“Hello. You must be Bradford Delson.” The man behind the desk said gently, now standing up to greet him.

“Brad.”

“Well alright Brad, have a seat. It’s nice to meet you. I’m still waiting for the jail to send over the rest of your paperwork, but in the meantime, welcome to parole.” Mr. Hahn explained to Brad that part of his parole was to go off to a rehab facility about a 45 minute drive away for 30 days, and that that didn’t get him out of meeting with him every day. Thankfully, Mr. Hahn said he’d make things easy and come to him. He continued, saying that this facility not only provided their own brand of A.A. meetings that were mandatory for Brad to go to, but that he also had to go to their anger management group therapy meetings as well. Brad exhaled deeply and was tempted to roll his eyes. It sounded like he really had his work cut out for him with the next 30 days filled with back-to-back-to-back meetings.

At first, it was an adjustment for Brad to deal with all of the change. After getting a look at some of the people he’d be living with at the rehab, he wasn’t so keen on making friends. Keeping up with meetings wasn’t great, and being told when to go to mealtimes wasn’t fun either. He was late to a few parole meetings and struggled to get anything out of the A.A. and anger management group meetings. Even meeting with the therapist didn’t seem all that helpful at first.

But in therapy, when he started remembering how good at basketball he used to be, how happy that made his parents— and subsequently falling down that rabbit hole— his therapist mentioned that he could really notice the change that happened. Brad started telling her about games of basketball he’d played with some of the guys he’d met during his little amount of free time and how he was very rusty to say the least but getting better, he started opening up a little more in anger management, and Mr. Hahn even showed his appreciation for Brad showing up to their meetings on time.

His therapist was especially surprised during their latest meeting when he had come to a realization that Chester was right and admitted that he needed to achieve sobriety for himself.

~ ~ ~

By the time his 30 days in rehab were done, it was suggested that Brad needed to stick around for an additional 30 days. Mr. Hahn offered suggestions, such as double checking with insurance to see if he could get accommodations or seeing about switching to state or locally funded addiction treatment programs. As it turned out— by the grace of God— the shitty insurance company Brad has provided him with an additional 30 days.

After he fully completed rehab, Brad went off to a halfway house for 6 months. Getting back on his feet was a struggle, but he landed a menial job as a dishwasher at an IHOP nearby. He quit it after 2 months there, but heard from one of the guys at the halfway house that there was an animal shelter he was working at that was located just outside of Agoura Hills. They needed another dog walker and hired parolees. He managed to land the job. In the meantime, not only did he continue to work on his 12 step process, but he got himself a good therapist at this place called ‘The Teal Door Counseling Center,’ thanks to a list of suggestions the therapist in rehab had given him. He even switched insurance companies and managed to land an insurance plan that was a little better than what he had.

It was 4 months later, and after moving into the cheapest apartment he could find, a little studio apartment above a deli/grocery store, he was feeling good. He felt he had finally finished the 7th step, completing his journey in humility. After revealing this to his therapist, Fred, he agreed.

“That’s good, I’m glad. Do you feel ready to move on to the next step?” Fred asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“The eighth one is... forgiveness if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yep.”

“Anyone in mind?”

“A few people.” Brad admitted.

“Well, write them all down. Make your amends. Any ideas on how you wanna contact them?”

“Well, some of the easier ones I could probably just call or email or whatever.”

“Some of the easier ones?” Fred asked with a laugh.

“Yeah. Police officers I yelled stuff at while drunk, this one store clerk— this little old lady, she ran a flower shop or whatever— I said some crude stuff to her. But there’s a few that I know aren’t gonna be so easy.”

“For right now, just take it one step at a time.” Suddenly, an alarm on Fred’s phone went off. “I guess that’s time. I’m glad to hear about your success. Keep it up.”


	8. Epilogue Part III: Talking To Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part of the epilogue!

The lights were still on at the Agoura Hills Art Gallery, but Brad got the feeling that he just saw the last attendees trickle out. He took a chance and went in anyways.

“Hello?” He called in hesitantly.

“Sorry, we’re clo— oh. Brad?” Mike sounded surprised. He should be, Brad thought, it had been a little over two years since they last saw each other.

“Yep.” After a moment, Mike said,

“So you got released, huh?” Now he was sounding a little nervous.

“Yeah. Uh, is this a bad time? I just came by ‘cause I wanted to apologize.”

“No, no, now’s... now’s okay.” He said, sounding a little more relieved. “I was just closing up and I... wasn’t expecting you. Or anyone else, really.”

“Well I wanted to apologize to you, but... in person. I... I’ve lashed out at you, I broke your trust in me, and I didn’t exactly put in the work or effort or…  _ anything _ good into our relationship like I should have. And for that, and for anything else you can think of, I am sorry. I, uhm, also don’t expect your forgiveness or anything else in return. Just so you know.” There was a beat of silence, and Brad let it happen so that Mike could take it in. “Well I, uh... should get going, I guess. It was nice seeing you.”

“Thank you.” Mike said as Brad turned to leave. “I forgive you.” Brad turned back around and gave Mike a smile.

“Thank you.” Was all Brad could think of to say. It was all he could say.

“So...” Mike began awkwardly, “do you need like, a ride back to wherever you call home now, or...? We could catch up.”

“Oh, I can— I can walk,”

“You sure? It’s cold out. I wouldn’t mind driving.” After a moment, Brad caved.

“Sure, yeah. Actually, part of me was hoping to apologize to Rob too, but I can do that tomorrow or... some other day that’s better. For him.”

“Here I’ll text him, see if he’s up. If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, I’ll do that while I finish closing up.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” And there Brad stood, taking in the finished gallery lined with some artist’s work and sculptures. He quickly checked around a corner, wanting to take a peek at some more. He was surprised by Mike.

“Alright, ready to go?” Brad nodded yes, and they made their way towards Mike’s car after he locked up the building’s door.

“I’m guessing I missed the grand opening of this place, huh?” Mike rubbed the back of his neck at the question.

“Uh, yeah. The turn out was better than I could’ve asked for. It was right up there with my wedding.”

“Oh, so you guys got married too. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah... after my time in jail I went off to rehab for a while. Now I’m sober and working on the 12 steps when I’m not at work or trying to duct tape something back together in my dinky little studio apartment.”

“Wow man, I’m so proud of you. You’ve got you’re own place and everything, that’s great!”

“Well it wasn’t easy and I’m barely scraping by with rent and everything.”

“Still, I’m glad to hear it. You’ve really come a long way. Where’d you say you work? If you want I can keep an eye out for another job for you.”

“Uh, SPCA of Agoura Hills. The manager is actually on her way out and they’re looking for a new one and I heard they’re considering me. But... I’m not expecting to get it.”

“Why not? I can see you being great at that.”

“Mike, I don’t exactly have management skills. I barely even have job skills.” Suddenly, a ding came from Mike’s pocket, interrupting their conversation as they approached Mike’s car.

“It’s Rob, he’s still up. You wanna call him?” Hesitancy shot through his veins. He didn’t  _ want _ to, but he knew he  _ had _ to. He remembered something his sponsor told him when they were discussing this step: Delay is dangerous.

“Yeah. Sure,” Brad took the phone once Mike dialed the number. The apology was quick and smooth, and found forgiveness and approval in the audience of one. Once it was all done, Mike asked,

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go home.”

~ ~ ~

Brad looked at the piece of paper in his hands. It’s been crumpled, uncrumpled, and then re-crumpled at least a thousand times since Chester gave it to him. More than that— at least double it, probably. But the phone number never did anything. It never changed, the right words to tell him never magically popped up beneath it, no magic genie appeared to call the number for him to say what he wanted to say.

He swallowed any fears he had and dialed it.

“Hello?” Brad didn’t say a word when he heard Chester’s voice. “Hellooo?”

“Chester?” There was a moment of stunned silence as Brad’s mouth dried out.

“Brad?”

“...Yeah. I... I, uh, wanna apologize. Can we like, meet somewhere? Or something?” Brad’s voice cracked during the last question, leaving him to notice how hot his face was suddenly getting. Brad felt his brain’s autopilot kick in.

“Um, yeah, sure. I’m free after 5 today, how about we meet at the Lava Java at like 5:30?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then, man.” There was a click, and Brad was left to try and remember information his brain was barely grasping at as it started to fade away.

~ ~ ~

Chester was sitting at a table for two, with one hand clutching a hot cup of coffee that sat on the table, and the other hand had a sugar glazed croissant heading towards his mouth. He had an edgy hipster look to him today, a beanie covering his shaved head, and aviators covering his eyes. He managed to pull off the look in his own unique way that made Brad’s heart flutter. In that moment, Brad guessed he’d never get past this crush; not like he was ever wanting to anyways. He felt his throat get tighter as he approached him.

“Hey, Ches?” He didn’t mean for it to come out so much like a question. His cheeks started to burn now, and for the first time in a couple of months, his fingers began to itch for a bottle to wrap around.

“Mm, hey.” He greeted him, trying to finish his bite of food quickly. He wiped his fingers off on a napkin and stood, shaking Brad’s hand. “Sit. Let’s talk.” They talked for almost an hour after Brad started them off, stuttering a little through an apology. He got more comfortable as they caught up after that, and his itch for a drink disappeared. Brad started his story with the last night they saw each other and his time in jail afterwards, and ended with his more recent ventures in getting a job and an apartment and everything in between. Chester told his own story as well, talking about finishing grad school, quitting his job at Burger King in the mall, and becoming a group therapist for adolescents. He’d been through a heartbreak or two while him and Brad were separated from each other, but felt he was in a good spot to try again.

“That’s good...” Brad said after hearing about Chester’s adventures in the dating world. “Maybe you can try again with me?” A large grin spread on Chester’s face, as did a light blush.

“I’d like that. How about Il Forno, say... Friday night?”

“I gotta work Friday night. How ‘bout Saturday night?”

“Sure. I gotta get a sitter for Jamie, but yeah.”

“Alright, cool.” As they said their goodbyes, a giddiness filled Brad that he hadn’t felt since childhood. Brad was feeling a little more ready for the future now.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This info has absolutely no bearing to the story, but if you wanna know if Brad got that management job at the animal shelter: Brad doesn’t get the job but the new guy only lasts a little over a year before leaving. Brad got a part time job working in the gallery in the meantime, cleaning up after showcases. After the new guy left, Brad got the job. 
> 
> Also, Brad and Chester's relationship works out great, and after a while, Brad meets Jaime, who he ends up absolutely adoring. A long while after that, they get engaged. Despite Brad's fears that he may not be a good step-dad or whatever, Chester calms his anxieties, and they end up getting married.


End file.
